mui de muito
cor de coração
dou de dourado
pé de pétala
vem do ventre
algo de algodão

segunda-feira, 31 de julho de 2006

coming up

our father who art in a penthousesits in his 37th floor suiteand swivels to gaze downat the city he made me inhe allows me to stand andsolicit graffiti untilhe needs the land i stand oni in my darkened thresholdam pawing through my pocketsthe receipts, the bus schedulesthe matchbook phone numbersthe urgent napkin poemsall of which laundering has renderedpulpy and strangeloose change and a keyask mego ahead, ask me if i carei got the answer herei wrote it down somewherei just gotta find iti just gotta find it

somebody and their spray paint got too closesomebody came on too heavynow look at me made uglyby the drooling lettersi was better off aloneain't that the way it isthey don't know the first thingbut you don't know thatuntil they take the first swingmy fingers are red and swollen from the coldi'm getting bold in my old ageso go ahead, try the doorit doesn't matter anymorei know the weakhearted are strongwilledand we are being kept aliveuntil we're killedhe's up there the iceis clinking in his glasshe sends me little pieces of paperi don't aski just empty my pockets and waitit's not fateit's just circumstancei don't fool myself with romancei just livephone number to phone numberdusting them against my thighsin the warmth of my pocketswhich whisper history incessantlyasking mewhere were you